A Portrait of the Healer as a Young Man
by end1essly
Summary: Draco, the heir of the illustrious Malfoy family, has been confronted with seemingly insurmountable circumstances his entire life. But what if his destiny followed a very different path? This is the story of Draco Malfoy not told in the original books.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: The idea of this story was inspired by James Joyce's **_**A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man**_**, and any similarities to his novel's plot are thereby attributed to Joyce. The characters of the **_**Harry Potter**_** series belong to J.K. Rowling, and I do not claim ownership concerning anything in her novels. Therefore, none of my fanfiction's true elements belong to myself; this is just my own personal interpretation. READERS BE WARNED: This is first and foremost a **_**Bildungsroman**_**, or coming of age story. There will be intrigue and action, and even some sex and romance, but if you are into constant drama and action, this is not the story for you. We are trying to answer the enigmatic question: Who is Draco Malfoy? Not: How many sexual and violent scenes can I fit in one story?**

**Prologue**

It was the beginning of a sultry summer, the muggy heat causing the air outside to thicken like translucent syrup, the residents of the magnificent house on the hill in seclusion from the harsh heatwave.

A young woman, face glistening with sweat, arched against the headboard, her trusted maid whispering words of comfort into her mistress's ears. Many things happened in the next instant, as a house elf opened the curtains to let the sun's splendor to cascade across Narcissa Malfoy's visage: the woman heavy with child gave a final piercing wail, and as her husband burst into the room with a look of anticipation so did a tiny baby out of his mother's womb, not knowing at that moment that he was his family's continuation into the next generation. The baby's eyes opened to greet the sunshine as the maid Serena washed his little limbs, the swishing of the water causing Narcissa to finally rest her tired head upon her feather pillow.

Lucius was the first to hold him, never knowing that this was one of the few times he would ever experience true joy, as the maids whispered about the child's lack of tears. "Welcome to the world, my beloved Draco," he murmured, "It seems that you will be an extraordinary child." Indeed, Draco looked back at his father with colorless eyes, matching the few strands of hair on his petite head, and even then, a bond was formed between father and son, one that would someday prove to be excruciating to break. Lucius handed the child back to Serena, disappearing in a swirl of dark robes**— **At the birth of an heir there was a multitude of celebrations to be planned, an opportunity for praise to be showered upon the new parents.

Narcissa lay nearly motionless as Serena wrapped baby Draco in a fine silk blanket and tucked him in the arms of his mother. Nobody was surprised when the girl barely breathed, falling into silent sleep, the quiet beginnings of another episode of melancholia enfolding at such a demanding effort.

It was near Autumn before the young woman felt the desire to leave her bed, her husband occupying himself with the christening of their new arrival and the dizzying spiral of his financial dealings. She listlessly dressed young Draco for tea, her blue eyes charmingly empty, and as she was too weak to carry her child herself, had Serena accompany her to the Parkinson mansion. Ophelia Parkinson threw open the front doors in unrestrained delight, sweeping Narcissa into a heavily fragranced hug. Such shrieking was repeated at the ornate table in the elaborate backyard garden, as Anastasia Nott, Sophia Greengrass and Celeste Zabini cooed at the newest Pureblood arrival, their own children occupying bony laps, noisily pulling on buttons and suckling bottles.

"Isn't he just an exquisite creature?!" squealed Ophelia, her already aristocratically arched eyebrows disappearing into her raven tresses, stroking Draco's plump cheek. At not quite three months old, Draco was as delicate as a doll, never shedding a tear or letting a noise escape his tiny pink lips, viewing the world with the same serenity as he had at birth. He was passed from woman to woman, each commenting on his likeness to Lucius and the complexity of his developing features. Little Pansy, having been part of the world for nearly a year, already possessed a dramatic demanding personality, and began to squeal when her mother started to give attention to the newcomer. This started a chain reaction, as little Daphne, Theodore and Blaise all erupted in furious tears. Rather than join their shenanigans, Draco just gazed reverently at his mother, Narcissa in awe over the love such a little person could exude. She was hardly out of her childhood herself, thrust into her marriage before her Seventh Year at Hogwarts, becoming pregnant mere days after the wedding ceremony.

As the other women chattered mindlessly, Narcissa drifted away to a place of comfort, inhabited only by her tiny child and herself. She lived a life devoid of meaning: Marriage to an older man she barely knew, paralyzing periods of depression, and forbidden to talk to her most beloved sister Andromeda, who had "betrayed" the Black family. But perhaps this little baby, the only one she would ever have to give birth to, would be her ticket to a glimmer of happiness, a state of being she never thought she'd have the luxury to experience.

Little Draco just closed his eyes, entering the silent sanctuary of sleep.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Draco would sit for hours, ear pressed against the door, desperate to hear any sound coming from the bedchamber. Serena would find him tightly rolled in a ball, fingernails clutching at the walnut door in his sleep, and would bring the little boy back to his own wing to continue his dreams in his own amongst pillows and downy coverlets.

Once before his nap, Serena had read him a story about a king living in a far away land, who under the influence of a spell, could turn everything he touched to gold. It was a special secret story, one that Draco had been told never to repeat to anyone else, but it was no big matter: it seemed his daddy could do the same exact thing, when he was around. Father could make money appear out of thin air, and always gave Draco whatever he asked for, even his own broom: Blaise and Theodore were ever so jealous! Draco did love the sun-sparkled daytimes; He could run wherever he wanted on the estate and fight imaginary dragons and go swimming in the little pond with his friends, as long as Serena could see him, because she couldn't do special tricks like Father. Draco didn't like it when the sun fell each evening, when it became harder to see his feet as he ran back to the Manor, his nose and arms red and irritated from the sunshine, when Serena helped him change his clothes and brush his teeth and give him a smile before he went to sleep.

He missed Mum. Draco saw her every morning at breakfast, and she always looked so tired, but she always asked what kind of adventures he had planned for the day, and helped him pick out his clothes, and knew his favorite color was red, but would disappear before the sun rose high in the sky. Serena said that Mum needed to stay in bed, that she was sick, but Draco thought that Mum didn't look so much sick as she needed a nice long nap. Draco was going to start school when the leaves started changing colors; he had just had his birthday and could finally join the lessons at Theodore's with his friends. How angry he had been when Pansy had come to call and showed him her little green book where she'd been practicing her letters! It wasn't fair that she turned five before he did, that he was the littlest of all his friends and he couldn't run as fast as the girls. He cried about it sometimes when Serena wasn't looking; Father told him that crying showed weakness, and Draco didn't want Serena to tell Father. He'd seen Father angry once when the house elf Molly brought him cold tea, his lips had got all stretchedy and he'd yelled so loud that the portraits had rattled on the parlor wall. Draco didn't like to think about that so much.

-

The day they had started their unit on Mudbloods Draco had come to find Serena on the floor, her body cold and mouth open wide so he could see all of her teeth. Blaise had told him all about the frog he had killed once, and how it had gotten all stiff and smelly after a while. Draco poked her a couple times and then ran down the hall to the other side of his house to his father's study. It was empty, so he ran to find his Mum, she'd taken to sitting in the garden, staring off into the distance, drinking endlessly from the same empty cup of tea.

"Mum," he said, setting a hand on her frail shoulder, "I think Serena's….dead."

Narcissa was only shaken from her reverie upon several more nudges on her shoulder.

"Oh, Draco dear, you're home already? How the hours flew by today! Oh goodness, your hair simply will not do, it's getting entirely too long, I can't see your lovely face!...What was that, dear?"

Perhaps Draco shouldn't have brought his Mum to Serena's body, for she only turned and zoomed into her bedchamber, her wails causing the portraits to whisper. Draco slid down to sit next to the body, wondering how his maid had come to such an untimely end. Just last night at dinner she had told him the most fascinating story, about his aunt and uncle— Draco didn't even know he had a cousin! It would be nice to have some company, perhaps he could ask Mum to invite Nymphodora over? After all, his friends' houses were always full of people, Blaise's new stepfather had brought three new boisterous children to his manor, Theo's little brother Demetrius was fun to tease, and even Daphne had her baby sister Astoria. Pansy, however, was getting very irritating to spend time with. Being the oldest, kept on bragging that she had gotten her Hogwarts letter early and showing off some fancy quill or another, but even Draco knew that they wouldn't get to attend school for another long year, another endless year!

He peered down at Serena, her youthful face free from wrinkles. She wasn't much younger than Mum, although Mum was much younger than Pansy's mum, who had a large nasty boil, right in the middle of her forehead. He sighed and dusted off his robes, wishing he could have helped her. The most extraordinary thing had happened yesterday when he and Blaise had been running through the garden— Blaise had fallen and hit his head on a rock, and it bled so horribly! Draco had peered at the cut and wished that the bleeding would stop so that they could keep on playing, and it did! He had told Father and he was ever so pleased, saying that it was the first sign of Draco's magic! Draco was ever so excited to start school! Before he knew it, he would have a real life wand and wear robes, just like a real Wizard! Draco gave Serena one last glance before he walked down the corridor towards his wing. The house elves would take care of her, he knew, and that he shouldn't feel too horrible that she had died. After all, Lord Nott had taught them about Squibs last week and how they weren't equal to Wizards. And that's what Serena was— a Squib.


End file.
